


the quiet of the stream, the rage of the river

by Shinybug



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blood Kink, Breathplay, First Time, M/M, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: After the catacombs, Will Graham comes to know Hannibal in every sense, completely, and Hannibal allows himself to be known.Coda to 3x02





	the quiet of the stream, the rage of the river

It was a fifteen minute walk in the dark from the Cappella Palatina to the Hotel Concordia, and Will Graham didn’t look over his shoulder once.

He could feel the steady gaze on the back of his neck, even if he could not hear footsteps behind him, and his own steps were measured and calm on the old square cobblestones of the Via del Bosco. He could feel his lungs expanding to their fullest capacity against his ribcage with every breath he took, a weight like a stone having been unburdened in the catacombs. Forgiveness was a tricky thing indeed.

Will felt certain he would see Abigail again, perhaps unexpectedly out of the corner of his eye one morning over coffee, smirking at him as he spilled the sugar, or perhaps only catch a glimpse of her hair tossing over her shoulder as she passed him on a street corner, walking the paths of his world for his eyes only. He did not feel any longer that he needed to bear the weight of her corpse on his shoulders, nor that she would want him to.

It began to rain as he crossed to the Via Divisi and the cobblestones gave way to modern cement. Will felt certain that wherever Hannibal was calling home these days, it was a far cry from this unassuming little corner of Palermo. Still, the shabby, worn-in hotel suited Will’s sensibilities far better than Hannibal’s immaculate house ever had, and he didn’t much care whether or not Hannibal found his lodgings distasteful.

He didn’t bother to close the door of his room behind him, having decided it wasn’t worth the pretense, and instead dropped his jacket on the bed as he passed, scattering raindrops on the floor. He poured himself a drink and stood at the balcony doors, watching the rainfall in the streetlamps and his own hazy reflection in the glass, and waiting.

The door made no sound when it was closed, but Will could feel the pressure in the room change. He took a sip of his scotch and let it burn, thinking of the finer drinks he had shared with Hannibal over many dinners.

“I did want it, you know,” Will admonished softly, swirling the liquid gently within the cheap glass. “Your ‘rare gift,’ as you called it.”

“I know,” Hannibal replied, his voice much closer to Will’s ear than Will had been expecting, and the cultured tones of it made his stomach lurch after so long without hearing it.

“You didn’t know then,” Will accused after a moment.

“I was blinded by betrayal. All I could see were the walls of Troy, unconquered. You on the other side.”

Will closed his eyes. “I would have gone with you. You were supposed to leave, and I was planning to follow. You never gave me the chance to say.”

“You set up the chess pieces,” Hannibal said, his voice hard, “And then you seemed surprised when I knocked them down. What other outcome were you anticipating?”

“Have you never wanted completely contradictory things at the same time?” Will asked, squeezing the glass in his hand tightly.

Hannibal’s face finally appeared reflected in the glass of the balcony door, half shadowed behind Will’s. “Yes,” he replied simply, and Will could see Hannibal was looking at him intently when he said it, his eyes sharp and focused.

Will took a deep and shuddering breath when Hannibal reached slowly around him to take the glass from his hand. He watched Hannibal’s reflection take a drink and make a disgusted face. The glass clinked on the table beside them.

“I had hoped to have imparted better taste to you, at least as far as your palate is concerned.”

Will refrained from rising to the bait of the topic of palate. “You may have, but you failed to impart the appropriate funds for a better scotch. Next time, bring your own.”

There was silence for a beat too long to be ignored.

“You assume there will be a next time.”

Will was surprised to feel a wry smile twisting his mouth. “With us, I think there will always be a next time.”

“You know that if I don’t want you to find me, you won’t,” Hannibal said, and his breath stirred the fine hairs on the back of Will’s neck.

“I can follow breadcrumbs in a forest better than most.” Will leaned his head back by millimeters, drawn to Hannibal’s warmth.

“You could have chosen not to follow them,” Hannibal observed, a hint of the dispassionate psychiatrist in his tone. Will felt the unmistakable press of Hannibal’s nose just behind his ear, nudging as he inhaled slowly and deeply.

“I could have,” he agreed, clenching his empty fists at his sides as Hannibal’s own hands came to rest lightly, so very lightly, on Will’s hips. “But the quiet of the stream lost its allure without the rage of the river to compare it to.”

“Then I suppose we are both here by choice.” Hannibal’s hand slid between the buttons of his shirt as smoothly and deftly as a knife, parting the fabric. A single button clicked on the floor, and Will hadn’t even felt the force of the thread breaking.

“I want you to promise me something, Hannibal,” Will whispered, leaning back and feeling his shoulder blades come to rest against Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal’s lips were cold but his breath was hot against Will’s neck, his tongue a startling line of texture and temperature, slipping out to taste.

“The next time you decide to kill me, have the decency to warn me first. I think we owe each other that much honesty, at least.”

The fingers on Will’s stomach paused in their exploration of the long fresh scar there, resting on the raised ridge of flesh. Will lifted his hand and pressed it over Hannibal’s, feeling knuckles and the edges of his own shirt caught together, both of them trapped.

“I promise,” Hannibal murmured into Will’s shoulder.

“And...give me the respect of making a meal of me. It was insulting to be left on the floor of your kitchen like that, like discarded meat.”

The huff of breath and shudder of Hannibal’s chest behind him might have been laughter, and Will smiled despite himself. “I...missed you,” Hannibal admitted, and it sounded like he had difficulty forming the words.

“Is that a foreign concept for you? Missing someone?”

“There are those whose company I enjoy, but I have not...felt a longing to be near them when I am not.” His other hand tightened, still resting on Will’s hip, and Will inhaled audibly. “It’s a weakness I’m not comfortable with.”

“Well. Now you know what it feels like to be human,” Will tilted his head back and shifted enough to feel the light stubble on Hannibal’s chin against his neck.

“You bring out the human in me.”

“You bring out the monster in me, so I guess that makes us even.” Will pulled away from him abruptly, turning to face Hannibal for the first time since that night in the kitchen. Hannibal looked startled, hands still poised in the echo of embrace. Will felt a moment of vertigo as he took in the leather jacket, the longer fall of hair, the cutting edge of desperation in Hannibal’s eyes that Will had never seen or anticipated.

“This is a new incarnation of you,” Will said hesitantly, mesmerized as he touched his fingertips to the cold skin of the leather over Hannibal’s heart.

Only someone who knew Hannibal as well as Will did would have been able to interpret the look that transformed his features for just a split second, a crack in the foundations of a house quickly covered up. Grief, wretched pain and regret, and the longing he had spoken of before. The rage of the river.

“You changed me,” Hannibal accused, none of the cultured sophistication left in his voice, only those three words gritted in a register low enough to vibrate in Will’s groin.

Will lifted his hand from Hannibal’s chest to his cheek, sliding back into his hair and gripping, and it wasn’t until he felt Hannibal’s arms come around him, fiercely tearing into the fabric between his shoulder blades that he realized it was a mirror image of their last embrace, blood spurting hot between them, the teacup shattering.

Only this time there was no knife, no blood. Will felt Hannibal’s heaving breaths tight against his chest, was aware this time of the insistent press of hips against his own, of Hannibal’s thigh slipping between his as he pushed Will up against the balcony door. Cold condensation bled through his shirt and he shivered when Hannibal’s teeth grazed over his jaw, scraping down his neck, ungentle.

“Let me, let me,” Hannibal was saying, holding him against the door with a force that contradicted the pleading words, ripping at Will’s shirt until all the buttons had given way, kneeling down to press his mouth against the pink flesh of Will’s scar.

Will grabbed Hannibal’s head in a surge of fear as Hannibal opened his mouth and bit down, testing the resiliency of new skin, worrying at the ridge with his teeth, and it hurt, it hurt terribly, but Will let him do it, let him pay homage to their mutual destruction. When Hannibal pulled back his lips were red and Will’s abdomen was streaked faintly with blood, and Will shook with the intensity of lust that hit him then.

Hannibal had never been one to shy away from eye contact, and this was no exception. His gaze held Will’s as his hands made short work of Will’s jeans, and Will had only a second to acknowledge the rational thought that putting such a vulnerable part of his body in the mouth of a cannibal was perhaps not the wisest decision he’d ever made. Then his cock was caught inside Hannibal’s mouth and Will’s vision grayed at the edges, the whole world narrowing to Hannibal’s eyes burning into his and the incredible ferocity of pressure and suction around his cock.

It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, not the delicate artful seduction of a woman’s mouth, or even the unabashed pleasure-seeking aggression of a man’s. Will realized shortly that Hannibal was trying to taste him the only way he was allowed, that Hannibal was starving for him, begging him with his eyes, ripping the orgasm from Will as hard as he could, until Will was convulsing and doubling over, clutching Hannibal’s head as he pulsed out his horrified pleasure into Hannibal’s mouth.

Hannibal refused to release him, and Will couldn’t help the cry that escaped him as he felt Hannibal’s tongue working around his cock, massaging and coaxing as he softened, getting every last drop as Will shuddered again and again, coming weakly a second time as his knees threatened to give way beneath him. When Hannibal finally swallowed it was like a terrible benediction, and Will groaned and slumped over, nearly losing consciousness.

Hannibal released and then caught him again, lowering him to the floor while Will gasped for oxygen. When he was able to open his eyes he saw Hannibal’s face above him, his expression raw and heavy-lidded as he cradled Will with one arm and touched his neck with the other.

“Going to strangle me now?” Will croaked, feeling the pressure of Hannibal’s fingertips over his carotid.

“Do you want me to?” It was an honest question.

Will shook his head. “Not really, but I suppose there wouldn’t be a better time for it.”

Hannibal smiled, and it was strange to see such genuine delight on his face. “I was checking for signs of life,” he explained belatedly.

“Another new experience for you,” Will observed, feeling slightly giddy as Hannibal’s hand slid down past his sternum, skating his palm over the abused line of the healing wound.

“Only the latest in a series since meeting you,” Hannibal replied.

Will snagged Hannibal by the nape of the neck and drew him down until they were sharing breath. “Did I make an adequate meal for you?”

Hannibal’s mouth grazed his, and Will could taste his own earthy scent, the bitter salt of pleasure. “For an appetizer, you were exquisite.”

Will sank into the kiss as though into water, letting it close over him. Hannibal’s tongue was strong against his, but gentle in a way that none of his previous touches had been. Will could feel the ridge of Hannibal’s cock against his bare hip, and was acutely aware of his complete dishevelment compared to Hannibal, who had yet to remove a single item of clothing.

“Take these off,” Will said, pushing back on Hannibal’s shoulder and tugging at the leather. “Let me see you.”

Hannibal’s gaze flickered a little but he sat back on his heels, straddling one of Will’s thighs, and stripped off the jacket and shirt. The hair on his chest was peppered with gray and looked soft, so Will ran his fingers through it while Hannibal unfastened his tailored jeans. His freed cock was hard and wet at the head, long and elegant under Hannibal’s fingers, and Will felt an answering ache in his groin as his own cock tried to stir.

“I have a bed,” Will offered, watching Hannibal stroke himself slowly. “It’s not much softer than the floor, but…”

“Maybe I will just have you here,” Hannibal suggested, looking over Will’s torn shirt puddled around his shoulders, at the jeans tugged down to his thighs, smears of blood and saliva and semen on his stomach.

“How uncivilized.”

“Did you expect roses and candlelight?” Hannibal worked his erection with a maddeningly slow pace, measured and controlled.

“Honestly, I didn’t let myself imagine.”

“Really? I imagined you. A thousand different ways I would take you apart. You should be pleased to know that only a few of the ways ended in...dinner.”

Will swallowed hard, shivering in the cold air and wanting so many things, so desperately. “I should say...I didn’t consciously imagine you this way. I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop. It was easier to imagine killing you. I guess it’s just the other side of the same coin, really.”

“But you knew we were headed here, didn’t you.” His rhythm had quickened slightly, and his breathing was becoming audible.

Will nodded slowly. “There is something comforting in accepting the inevitable. In giving in completely.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘surrender,’ I think,” Hannibal stated, releasing himself to drop forward suddenly, bracing himself over Will on hands and knees, and Will thought of the black stag.

“I was going for something less trite,” Will said, but raised his mouth for a hard kiss.

“Surrender is never trite when it’s genuine. Is this genuine?”

Will opened for Hannibal’s tongue, relaxing into the hand that suddenly bracketed his throat, holding him still for a deeply probing kiss that cut off his air. Stars danced behind his eyes and he caught the hand that was wrapped around his neck. Hannibal paused, growing still as he waited, but Will slid his fingers up to squeeze Hannibal’s wrist, holding him in place rather than pushing him away.

Hannibal made a sound like a wounded bear and flung himself off of Will. His chest was heaving and he looked wrecked, fiery, and about as human as Will had ever seen him. “Get up,” he ordered, backing away as he kicked off his boots with short, incongruously graceful motions.

Will rolled to his feet with somewhat less grace, caught in his own jeans and boots and the remains of his shirt. Somehow Hannibal was there beside him, already nude, ripping the shirt from him and shoving him down on the bed to yank off Will’s boots and jeans.

“Will you let me…” Hannibal started, crawling up over Will’s body and seemingly unable to finish his request.

“Anything,” Will answered, and he knew a moment of detached horror when he realized that he meant it.

Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment and appeared to be in agony. Will leaned up on an elbow to kiss him, and he let himself use his teeth. After a moment Hannibal pushed him away, his mouth bitten red, and flipped Will over on his hands and knees.

Every kiss was a bite, was a fierce blossom of suction, leaving a trail down his spine that anyone would have been able to follow later. Hannibal’s mouth between his cheeks shouldn’t have surprised him but somehow did anyway, and he braced himself with a shout. Hannibal’s slick tongue was hot and stabbing, opening him up, tasting him.

Will pressed his face against his forearm and rocked back, trying to muffle the noises breaking out of his throat. At some point the groans turned into Hannibal’s name, and Hannibal’s tongue was replaced by saliva slippery fingers.

“You didn’t let yourself imagine this?” Hannibal asked him, spearing him with three fingers and stretching him until he burned.

“How could I...ahh...have imagined this?” Will countered on a breathless laugh that became a moan when Hannibal twisted his fingers slowly.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Hannibal replied, and then his cock was pressing in, not nearly slick enough but Will craved it anyway. 

It hurt, god it hurt, but it was exactly what he needed, the pounding rhythm that shook him, the stuttered breaths, the bright sparks in his vision when Hannibal grasped Will’s hair and pulled his head back so far that it restricted his airway. Hannibal was breathing hard like a bellows, stoking a fire, and suddenly all the pieces of Hannibal fit together in Will’s mind with a click he could almost feel. The violence and the elegance, the sharp knife and the smooth touch. It was all the same.

If it was possible to love such a creature, then Will did.

Hannibal released his head and Will bowed forward like a marionette with cut strings. He helplessly rested his forehead on his arms and braced himself, breathing. Hannibal slid a hand beneath him to grasp his cock, and Will didn’t think he would be able to come again so soon but one sharp tug was all it took and he was spurting weakly against the worn bedspread, crying out. Hannibal buried himself with one last thrust and came silently with hard pulses that Will could feel at the very heart of him.

Will wanted to collapse right there but Hannibal pulled out and leaned over, parting his cheeks and tasting him again, quickly, just one swipe of his tongue, and Will could imagine the mingled taste of blood and semen would be like ambrosia to one like Hannibal.

There was no one else like Hannibal, his mind whispered.

He was almost shocked when Hannibal took the time to clean them both up with Will’s ripped shirt, but then Hannibal always did prefer things to be immaculate. Even his violence was art.

Will had a hard time looking Hannibal in the eye afterward, though he could feel Hannibal’s steady gaze on him. He wondered if Hannibal could feel a shift between them, some subtle alteration of their dynamic. He could feel it in his bones. He had truly become Patroclus to Hannibal’s Achilles. It had been inevitable, really.

He also knew, with the conviction of a zealot, that their story would end someday with death. Strangely, it gave him a sense of peace.

Will sat up and watched Hannibal dress himself, the leather jacket sliding back into place like armor. It was an odd sensation to feel so vulnerable in front of Hannibal, naked and ruined, in a way, though he knew he would survive it this time. He finally looked up to meet Hannibal’s eyes and they were soft, just for the briefest moment, and then he was looking at the flat smooth surface of a frozen lake.

“Don’t look for me,” Hannibal murmured, a sound like silk dragged over gravel.

“You know I will.”

Hannibal observed him for a long moment. “I know.”

He turned and walked away, pausing ever so slightly in the doorway, but he didn’t look back. Will watched him until the door closed, and then stared at the closed door for long minutes, listening to the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the roughest thing I've ever written, and I'm not sure if it was cathartic or just the opposite. It sat on my computer for a year before I decided to post it. I'd love to hear what you all think, feedback is awesome.


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